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I press one last desperate kiss to his lips, memorizing the feel of him in case everything falls apart. “Tomorrow,” I promise. “One way or another, this ends tomorrow.”

As Carmela leads me back toward the mansion, toward the family that would chain me to a man I loathe, toward a diary that could destroy everything, I feel Stefano’s eyes on me—burning with possession and protection that makes my heart race even as fear claws at my throat.

Tonight is the last night of the life I was born into. By this time tomorrow, I’ll either be truly free for the first time—or I’ll have lost everything I never knew I wanted.

Either way, there’s no going back.

18

Alessio

The diary. Isadora’s fucking diary.

I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turn white as I tear through the rain-slicked streets of Queens. Backup plans exist for a reason, but this one tastes like ash in my mouth. Twenty years of meticulous planning crumbling because of words written in a leather-bound book.

“They’re moving,” Vittorio’s voice crackles through my burner phone. “Four of Giancarlo’s men just left the estate. Two heading east, two west.”

“They’re hunting,” I say, taking a hard right that sends water spraying from beneath my tires. “Set up the extraction point at location three. We’re compromised.”

“What about the girl?”

My jaw clenches at the dismissive way he refers to Isadora. “She goes with us.”

“Stefano—”

“That’s not up for discussion,” I snap, cutting him off. The clock on my dashboard reads 1:47 AM. The wedding is less than ten hours away. “Secure the route. I need to grab the evidence first.”

I end the call before he can argue further. Vittorio doesn’t understand—can’t understand—what Isadora has become to me. How, in the span of days, she’s shifted from a means to an end, to the end itself. The woman who saw past Alessio Gravano to the ghost of Stefano Calviño beneath. The only person who makes me want something beyond revenge.

Rain pounds against the windshield as I park three blocks from my childhood apartment. The neighborhood looks different at night—more threatening, less nostalgic. I move through shadows with the trained precision of a predator, every sense attuned to potential danger.

The blue door looks exactly as it did when I came with Isadora which is what feels like forever ago. I unlock it with practiced ease, slipping inside the building without a sound. The scent of cabbage and disinfectant brings an unexpected pang of sentimentality that I forcefully shove aside. Sentiment gets you killed in this business.

Apartment 3C is undisturbed—the trap I set on the door is still intact. Inside, I move directly to the loose floorboard beneath Maria’s old rocking chair. The safe embedded in the concrete holds everything I need: offshore account numbers, blackmail material on three judges, and hard evidence linking Giancarlo to a dozen murders, including my mother’s.

My mother’s ring weighs heavy in my pocket as I transfer the documents to my waterproof case. The last item I retrieve is a 9mm Glock—not my preferred Beretta, but an untraceable backup for emergencies.

And this definitely qualifies as a fucking emergency.

My phone vibrates. Unknown number.

“Gravano,” I answer, tucking the case under my arm.

“Stefano.” Maria’s voice, thin with fear, sends ice through my veins. “Men came—asking about you.”

“Are you hurt?” I’m already moving, taking the stairs two at a time.

“No, but they know,figlio mio.They asked for Stefano Calviño.”

My blood freezes. “I’m coming to get you.”

“No!” Her voice strengthens with familiar stubbornness. “They’re watching the home. Go to her. The girl—she needs you more than I do.”

“Maria—”

“I’ve arranged my own protection. Father Antonelli—remember him? He’s moving me to the church shelter.” She pauses, and I hear all she doesn’t say. “Find your happiness, Stefano. It was never going to be in vengeance.”

The line goes dead, leaving me with a hollow ache in my chest. I exit the building through the back, senses hyper-alert as I circle to my car. The rain has intensified, providing cover but limiting visibility. A blessing and a curse.